MASLOVA AND HER COMPANIONS.
The political prisoners were kept in two small rooms, the doors of which opened into a part of the passage partitioned off from the rest. The first person Nekhludoff saw on entering into this part of the passage was Simonson in his rubber jacket and with a log of pine wood in his hands, crouching in front of a stove, the door of which trembled, drawn in by the heat inside.
When he saw Nekhludoff he looked up at him from under his protruding brow, and gave him his hand without rising.
"I am glad you have come; I want to speak to you," he said, looking Nekhludoff straight in the eyes with an expression of importance.
"Yes; what is it?" Nekhludoff asked.
"It will do later on; I am busy just now," and Simonson turned again towards the stove, which he was heating according to a theory of his own, so as to lose as little heat energy as possible.
Nekhludoff was going to enter in at the first door, when Maslova, stooping and pushing a large heap of rubbish and dust towards the stove with a handleless birch broom, came out of the other. She had a white jacket on, her skirt was tucked up, and a kerchief, drawn down to her eyebrows, protected her hair from the dust. When she saw Nekhludoff, she drew herself up, flushing and animated, put down the broom, wiped her hands on her skirt, and stopped right in front of him. "You are tidying up the apartments, I see," said Nekhludoff, shaking hands.
"Yes; my old occupation," and she smiled. "But the dirt! You can't imagine what it is. We have been cleaning and cleaning. Well, is the plaid dry?" she asked, turning to Simonson.
"Almost," Simonson answered, giving her a strange look, which struck Nekhludoff.
"All right, I'll come for it, and will bring the cloaks to dry. Our people are all in here," she said to Nekhludoff, pointing to the first door as she went out of the second.
Nekhludoff opened the door and entered a small room dimly lit by a little metal lamp, which was standing low down on the shelf bedstead. It was cold in the room, and there was a smell of the dust, which had not had time to settle, damp and tobacco smoke.
Only those who were close to the lamp were clearly visible, the bedsteads were in the shade and wavering shadows glided over the walls. Two men, appointed as caterers, who had gone to fetch boiling water and provisions, were away; most of the political prisoners were gathered together in the small room. There was Nekhludoff's old acquaintance, Vera Doukhova, with her large, frightened eyes, and the swollen vein on her forehead, in a grey jacket with short hair, and thinner and yellower than ever.. She had a newspaper spread out in front of her, and sat rolling cigarettes with a jerky movement of her hands.
Emily Rintzeva, whom Nekhludoff considered to be the pleasantest of the political prisoners, was also here. She looked after the housekeeping, and managed to spread a feeling of home comfort even in the midst of the most trying surroundings. She sat beside the lamp, with her sleeves rolled up, wiping cups and mugs, and placing them, with her deft, red and sunburnt hands, on a cloth that was spread on the bedstead. Rintzeva was a plain-looking young woman, with a clever and mild expression of face, which, when she smiled, had a way of suddenly becoming merry, animated and captivating. It was with such a smile that she now welcomed Nekhludoff.
"Why, we thought you had gone back to Russia," she said.
Here in a dark corner was also Mary Pavlovna, busy with a little, fair-haired girl, who kept prattling in her sweet, childish accents.
"How nice that you have come," she said to Nekhludoff.
"Have you seen Katusha? And we have a visitor here," and she pointed to the little girl.
Here was also Anatole Kryltzoff with felt boots on, sitting in a far corner with his feet under him, doubled up and shivering, his arms folded in the sleeves of his cloak, and looking at Nekhludoff with feverish eyes. Nekhludoff was going up to him, but to the right of the door a man with spectacles and reddish curls, dressed in a rubber jacket, sat talking to the pretty, smiling Grabetz. This was the celebrated revolutionist Novodvoroff. Nekhludoff hastened to greet him. He was in a particular hurry about it, because this man was the only one among all the political prisoners whom he disliked. Novodvoroff's eyes glistened through his spectacles as he looked at Nekhludoff and held his narrow hand out to him.
"Well, are you having a pleasant journey?" he asked, with apparent irony.
"Yes, there is much that is interesting," Nekhludoff answered, as if he did not notice the irony, but took the question for politeness, and passed on to Kryltzoff.
Though Nekhludoff appeared indifferent, he was really far from indifferent, and these words of Novodvoroff, showing his evident desire to say or do something unpleasant, interfered with the state of kindness in which Nekhludoff found himself, and he felt depressed and sad.
"Well, how are you?" he asked, pressing Kryltzoff's cold and trembling hand.
"Pretty well, only I cannot get warm; I got wet through," Kryltzoff answered, quickly replacing his hands into the sleeves of his cloak. "And here it is also beastly cold. There, look, the window-panes are broken," and he pointed to the broken panes behind the iron bars. "And how are you? Why did you not come?"
"I was not allowed to, the authorities were so strict, but to-day the officer is lenient."
"Lenient indeed!" Kryltzoff remarked. "Ask Mary what she did this morning."
Mary Pavlovna from her place in the corner related what had happened about the little girl that morning when they left the halting station.
"I think it is absolutely necessary to make a collective protest," said Vera Doukhova, in a determined tone, and yet looking now at one, now at another, with a frightened, undecided look. "Valdemar Simonson did protest, but that is not sufficient."
"What protest!" muttered Kryltzoff, cross and frowning. Her want of simplicity, artificial tone and nervousness had evidently been irritating him for a long time.
"Are you looking for Katusha?" he asked, addressing Nekhludoff. "She is working all the time. She has cleaned this, the men's room, and now she has gone to clean the women's! Only it is not possible to clean away the fleas. And what is Mary doing there?" he asked, nodding towards the corner where Mary Pavlovna sat.
"She is combing out her adopted daughter's hair," replied Rintzeva.
"But won't she let the insects loose on us?" asked Kryltzoff.
"No, no; I am very careful. She is a clean little girl now. You take her," said Mary, turning to Rintzeva, "while I go and help Katusha, and I will also bring him his plaid."
Rintzeva took the little girl on her lap, pressing her plump, bare, little arms to her bosom with a mother's tenderness, and gave her a bit of sugar. As Mary Pavlovna left the room, two men came in with boiling water and provisions.
政治犯住两个小房间，门外是一截同外界隔离的过道。聂赫留朵夫走进这部分过道，看见的第一个人就是西蒙松。西蒙松身穿短上衣，手里拿着一块松木，蹲在炉子跟前。炉门被热气吸进去，不断颤动。
西蒙松一看见聂赫留朵夫，没有站起来，只从两道浓眉下抬起眼睛，并同他握手。
“您来了，我很高兴，我正要跟您见面呢，”他凝视着聂赫留朵夫的眼睛，现出意味深长的样子说。
“什么事啊？”聂赫留朵夫问。
“回头告诉您。现在我走不开。”
西蒙松继续生炉子，应用他那套尽量减少热能损耗的原理。
聂赫留朵夫刚要从一扇门里进去，玛丝洛娃却从另一扇门里出来。她手拿扫帚，弯着腰，正在把一大堆垃圾往炉子那边扫。玛丝洛娃身穿白色短上衣，裙子下摆掖在腰里，脚穿长统袜，头上为了挡灰，齐眉包着一块白头巾。她一看见聂赫留朵夫，就挺直腰，脸涨得通红，神态活泼，放下扫帚，在裙子上擦擦手，笔直站在他面前。
“您在收拾房间吗？”聂赫留朵夫一面说，一面同她握手。
“是啊，这是我的老行当，”她说着微微一笑。“这儿脏得简直不象话。我们打扫了又打扫，还是弄不干净。怎么样，我那条毛毯干了吗？”她问西蒙松。
“差不多干了，”西蒙松说，用一种使聂赫留朵夫惊讶的异样目光瞧着她。
“哦，那我回头来拿，我那件皮袄也要拿来烤烤干。我们的人都在这里面，”她对聂赫留朵夫说，指指靠近的门，自己却往另一个门走去。
聂赫留朵夫推开门，走进一个不大的牢房。牢房里，板铺上点着一盏小小的铁皮灯，光线微弱。牢房里很陰冷，空中弥漫着灰尘、潮气和烟草味。铁皮灯只照亮一小圈地方，板铺处在陰影中，墙上跳动着影子。
在这个不大的牢房里，除了两个掌管伙食的男犯出去取开水和食物外，所有的人都在。聂赫留朵夫的老相识薇拉也在这里。她更加又瘦又黄，睁着一双惊惶不安的大眼睛，额上暴起一根很粗的青筋，头发剪得很短，身穿一件灰短袄。她坐在一张摊开的报纸前面，报纸上撒满烟草。她正紧张地把烟草往纸筒里装。
这里还有一个聂赫留朵夫觉得极其可爱的女政治犯——艾米丽雅。她负责掌管内务，给他的印象是，即使处境极其艰苦，也具有女性持家的本领，并且富有魅力。这会儿她坐在灯旁，卷起衣袖，用她那双晒得黑黑的灵巧而好看的手擦干大小杯子，把它们放在板铺的手巾上。艾米丽雅年轻，并不漂亮，但聪明而温和，笑起来显得快乐、活泼和迷人。现在她就用这样的笑容迎接聂赫留朵夫。
“我们还以为您已经回俄罗斯，不再来了呢，”她说。
这里还有谢基尼娜。她坐在较远的陰暗角落里，正在为一个淡黄头发的小女孩做着什么事。那女孩用悦耳的童音咿咿呀呀地说个不停。
“您来了，真是太好了。见到玛丝洛娃啦？”谢基尼娜问聂赫留朵夫。“您瞧，我们这儿来了个多好的小客人哪。”她指指小女孩说。
克雷里卓夫也在这里。他盘腿坐在远处角落里的板铺上，脚穿毡靴，脸容消瘦苍白，弯着腰，双手揣在皮袄袖管里，浑身发抖，用他那双害热病的眼睛瞅着聂赫留朵夫。聂赫留朵夫正想到他跟前去，忽然看见房门右边坐着一个淡棕色鬈发的男犯。这男犯戴着眼镜，身穿橡胶上衣，一面整理口袋里的东西，一面跟相貌俊美、脸带笑容的格拉别茨谈话。这个人就是赫赫有名的革命者诺伏德伏罗夫。聂赫留朵夫连忙同他招呼。聂赫留朵夫所以特别忙着跟他招呼，因为在这批政治犯中，他就不喜欢这个人。诺伏德伏罗夫闪动浅蓝色眼睛，透过眼镜瞅着聂赫留朵夫，接着皱起眉头，伸出一只瘦长的手来同他握。
“怎么样，旅行愉快吗？”他说，显然带着嘲弄的口气。
“是啊，有趣的事可不少，”聂赫留朵夫回答，装作没有听出他的嘲弄，把它当作亲切的表示。他说完，就往克雷里卓夫那边走去。
聂赫留朵夫表面上装得若无其事，但心里对诺伏德伏罗夫却远不是没有芥蒂的。诺伏德伏罗夫说的话，以及他招人不快的意图，破坏了聂赫留朵夫的情绪。他感到沮丧和气恼。
“您身体怎么样？”他握着克雷里卓夫冰凉的哆嗦的手说。
“没什么，就是身子暖不过来，衣服都湿透了，”克雷里卓夫说着，慌忙把手揣到皮袄袖管里。“这里也冷得要死。您瞧，窗子都破了。”他指指铁栅外面玻璃窗上的两个窟窿。
“您怎么一直不来？”
“他们不让我进来，长官严得很。今天一个还算和气。”
“哼，好一个还算和气的长官！”克雷里卓夫说。“您问问谢基尼娜，他今天早晨干了什么事。”
谢基尼娜没有站起来，讲了今天早晨从旅站出发前那个小女孩的事。
“照我看来，必须提出集体抗议，”薇拉断然说，同时胆怯而迟疑地瞧瞧这个人，又瞧瞧那个人。“西蒙松提过抗议了，但这还不够。”
“还提什么抗议？”克雷里卓夫恼怒地皱着眉头说。显然，薇拉的装腔作势和神经质早就使他反感了。“您是来找玛丝洛娃的吧？”他对聂赫留朵夫说。“她一直在干活，打扫。我们男的这一间她打扫好了，现在打扫女的那一间去了。就是跳蚤扫不掉，咬得人不得安生。谢基尼娜在那边干什么呀？”他扬扬头示意谢基尼娜那个角落，问。
“她在给养女梳头呢，”艾米丽雅说。
“她不会把虱子弄到我们身上来吧？”克雷里卓夫问。
“不会，不会，我很留神。现在她可干净了，”谢基尼娜说。“您把她带去吧，”她对艾米丽雅说，“我去帮帮玛丝洛娃。
给她送块毛毯去。”
艾米丽雅接过女孩，带着母性的慈爱把她两条胖嘟嘟的光胳膊贴在自己胸口，让她坐在膝盖上，又给她一小块糖。
谢基尼娜出去了，那两个取开水和食物的男人紧接着回到牢房里。